


Spoils of Battle

by imaginary_golux



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 03:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: For the February Ficlet Challenge prompt "Death and/or rebirth."Ori sees his One fall on the battlefield.Beta by my Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw, who declared this "angstyandcute."





	Spoils of Battle

Ori sees him fall, at the Battle. It’s chaos - any battle is chaos, but this one, with orcs and Men and elves, eagles and dwarves and a great brown bear and - somewhere - a tiny hobbit - it’s worse than Ori has ever imagined a battle could be.

Ori is fighting between his brothers, and it is true, actually, what the rumors say: the sons of Ri are the strongest dwarves beneath the stone. Even wiry Nori is far stronger than he appears; stocky Dori is the strongest dwarf in the Blue Mountains, bar none; and Ori himself - well, there’s a reason the warhammer is a good weapon for him. When he hits an orc, the orc goes _down_. The three of them together are a whirling triangle of death, with Ori’s warhammer and Dori’s flail keeping nearly all the orcs from ever getting close enough to even _dream_ of hitting them, and Nori and his knives destroying any orc who manages to dodge the heavier weapons or attempt to sneak up behind them. Insofar as anyone can be safe in a battle, Ori is safe between his brothers, and keeps them safe in turn.

But he sees Dwalin fall, and is too far away to do anything about it. Dwalin was trying to get to Thorin and the princes - was so desperate that he left the company of his brother and his cousins, forging away from Balin and Oin and Gloin towards the ring of orcs surrounding Bolg and Thorin, and even Dwalin son of Fundin is not quite able to fight his way alone through an entire army of orcs.

Ori does not fight alone. When he sees Dwalin fall - when he cries to his brothers, “There! Quickly!” - they do not argue, but turn their steps at once towards the knot of orcs still surrounding the downed warrior, and clear a path together, hammer and flail and vicious, flashing knives.

Ori is sure, then, that Dwalin is dead; sure that he saw Dwalin die. But he will not leave Dwalin’s body to the orcs. Not Dwalin.

Not his One.

Ori’s never said anything, of course, for several reasons. The middle of a suicide quest is not precisely the right time to bring up _love_ , for one thing. Just because Dwalin is _his_ One doesn’t mean he’s _Dwalin’s_ , for another. Ori’s overprotective brothers might kill anyone Ori dares to flirt with. _Dwalin’s_ overprotective brother might arrange a quiet accident for anyone _Dwalin_ flirts with.

In any case, Ori’s known since he _met_ Dwalin, months ago in Bilbo’s smial, that Dwalin was his One and only, but he hasn’t really seen any signs that Dwalin recognized _him_ , and they’ve been busy, and Ori’s shy.

And now his One lies in the bloody mud at Ori’s feet, and Ori plants himself beside Dwalin’s head, his brothers falling into place on either side of Dwalin’s fallen form, and swears to himself that he will not leave his One’s body to be taken by the orcs, though he die himself in the attempt.

Somehow, he doesn’t die, and his brothers don’t die, and Beorn carries Thorin and the princes away from Bolg’s body, and the eagles save them all. It’s...honestly something of a blur for Ori, an endless array of orcs falling before his warhammer, his arms aching with the weight of it, striking over and over and over until at last, impossibly, wonderfully, there are no enemies left to slay.

And _then_ he collapses beside Dwalin, and gathers his One’s head into his lap, and weeps like a child.

He doesn’t remember much after that.

*

Ori wakes up under the mountain - there’s nothing quite like the sensation of safety which every dwarf feels under stone, and he knows even before he opens his eyes that he’s been brought into Erebor. His brothers are beside him when he does open his eyes, Dori knitting furiously the way he does when he’s worried and can’t do anything about it, Nori sharpening some of his multitudinous knives.

And Ori is not alone in the bed, nor are Dori and Nori the only people in the room. _Balin_ is there, scratching away industriously at a long roll of parchment, and beside Ori in the bed -

_Breathing_ beside Ori in the bed, pale but _alive_ -

Dwalin.

Ori makes a noise - he’s not sure what - and is immediately surrounded by worried brothers. There may be only two of them, but they can _definitely_ surround him. He’s propped up on pillows with a big mug of sweet tea and half a dozen trail biscuits of Bilbo’s unmistakable recipe (it actually tastes good) before he can blink.

“What _happened_?” he asks, once he’s eaten and drunk enough to make Dori stop glaring quite so hard.

To his surprise, it’s Balin who answers. “You saved my brother’s life,” he says quietly, looking up from his parchment to give Ori a smile so full of gratitude it’s almost painful. “And then he wouldn’t let go of you, even unconscious as he was, so we put you in the same bed to recover. As far as Oin can tell, you were just exhausted - not enough food before the battle, and then you stood over my brother for _hours_ \- and Dwalin lost a lot of blood and broke a couple of bones but thank Mahal is sturdy enough that he should recover fully.”

“...Everyone else?” Ori asks.

“Thorin and the princes are still unconscious, but Bilbo managed to browbeat King Thranduil into bringing healers, and Gandalf says they should wake soon, though Fili may lose the arm and Kili has lost an eye. Everyone else is hale enough - a few broken bones, some new battle scars. Dain is holding Erebor until Thorin wakes.”

“Oh,” says Ori, marveling, and then looks down at where Dwalin has, despite showing no signs of waking, cuddled in close to sling an arm over Ori’s legs and nuzzle against his hip. Somehow, saying the words aloud doesn’t seem so scary anymore. Not after the Battle. Not after thinking Dwalin was _dead_.

“He’s my One,” he says, and Dori and Nori and Balin all nod.

“We figured,” Nori says bluntly. “Nobody goes berserk like that for no reason, especially not _you_. And Dwalin isn’t usually this…” he looks down at the big dwarf and smirks. “Cuddly.”

Ori dares to stroke a hand over Dwalin’s hair. Someone - he suspects Balin - has washed it, and it’s surprisingly soft under his fingers. “Does Oin think he’ll wake soon?” he asks Balin.

“In the next day or so, probably,” Balin says.

“Alright,” says Ori, and settles in to wait.

*

It’s just Ori and Dori in the room when Dwalin finally wakes. Balin has been called away to help Dain negotiate with Bard and the survivors of Laketown, and Nori has gone off on an errand that he tried very hard to make sound shady and Ori suspects is actually something that will be very helpful. Dori is knitting again, less frantically now, and Ori himself has managed to convince his brother to bring him a lap desk and his book, and is writing down everything he can remember of the Battle. Firsthand accounts are priceless to historians, and he’s going to gather all of the Company’s memories, but his own are the easiest, since he doesn’t have to ask anyone else any questions.

He’s just put his pen down, feeling wrung out and sore, when Dwalin shifts again, as he has several times in the past few hours, and then rolls slowly onto his back and blinks up at Ori. Ori stares down at him, mouth dry despite the mugs of tea Dori keeps giving him. It’s one thing to claim Dwalin as his One to their brothers, and somehow another far more terrifying thing to say anything to Dwalin himself. What if Ori and Balin are wrong, and Dwalin has only been clinging to Ori because - because he thinks Ori is someone else?

“Am I in the Halls of Mahal?” Dwalin croaks after a long moment. Ori reaches blindly for his latest mug of tea, and Dori presses it into his hands and then comes around to help lift Dwalin enough to pack pillows under him. Ori holds the mug out mutely. Dwalin takes it in slightly shaky hands and drinks, long slow sips with pauses to make sure it goes down easily.

When the mug is drained, Dwalin hands it to Dori, still staring at Ori. “Am I in the Halls of Mahal?” he asks again, quietly.

“No,” Ori says. “We - we both survived. Everyone did. Um. Except the orcs.”

Dwalin’s lips turn up at the corners, just a little. “Everyone? Thorin and the boys?”

“Balin said they’re expected to wake soon.”

Dwalin nods thoughtfully. “And I’m in your bed because…?” He doesn’t sound _mad_ or anything, but Ori winces a little anyhow.

“You...wouldn’t let go of me,” he says. “After. Um.”

Dwalin considers that for a moment. “I fell in the Battle,” he says. “And falling, I had two regrets. One was that I could not reach my king.” Ori nods. Dwalin’s loyalty is nearly legendary - probably _will_ be legendary, after this. Ori himself might help to make it so, if his records of the Quest are widely read. “The other was that I had never spoken my heart to my One.”

Ori’s breath catches.

“I am an old warrior, and no proper match for a bright young scribe,” Dwalin says quietly. “But you are my One, who I clung to even at the doorstep of death. Will you have me?”

“You are my One,” Ori says, and barely even notices Dori slipping very quietly out the door to give them privacy in this sacred moment. “I will have you, and no other.”

Dwalin lifts his arm and tugs Ori in to nestle against his side, and bends his head to rest their foreheads together. “Mahal is kind,” he murmurs. “I planned - if we survived the dragon, I had planned to court you properly. After.”

“Well,” Ori says, “we’ve survived the dragon. And I don’t think our brothers are likely to object, after - um.”

“After?” Dwalin asks.

“I...might have led my brothers to defend your body,” Ori confesses.

“Ah,” Dwalin says, and his eyes are bright. “They will make songs of you, my warrior-scribe. I shall sing them myself.”

Ori finds himself laughing and tearing up at the same time. “They’ll make songs of _all_ of us,” he says. “Of Dwalin the Loyal and Balin the Wise and Dori the Strong and Nori the Cunning -”

“Of Ori the Valiant,” Dwalin finishes, “who saved his One from death, and won him thereby.”

“Oh, shush,” Ori says, and curls into Dwalin’s arms, and Dwalin holds him close.

Ori falls asleep, safe and brimming over with joy, cradled in his One’s strong arms.


End file.
